


Disciple

by faaf_foof



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bad Ending, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dom/sub Undertones, Everyone is Dead, Extremely Dubious Consent, I'm bad at tagging just come on in if you're nasty, M/M, Shulk-centric, Tags Subject to Change, Whump, light blood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:08:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21544294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faaf_foof/pseuds/faaf_foof
Summary: Zanza won.Now that the world is his, he has plans for Shulk.Bad end AU, Shulk/Zanza, blatant trash hours
Relationships: Shulk/Zanza (Xenoblade Chronicles)
Comments: 41
Kudos: 79





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by all the ridiculous dirtyxenobladeconfessions asks. I love you guys. but we have so many thirsty shulk/zanza boys out there and so little sauce. I had to get in the kitchen 
> 
> so if people are into it I'm open to continuing. also open to ideas, if anyone has any. peace

Shulk dropped to his knees, panting, as the world shattered around him.

His mind chugged and hissed, slowing in the struggle to process everything that had happened. It had all been so quick. The rush of rebellion, looking up into that terrible visor and saying no, they would not yield, boldly declaring that they would not allow Zanza to have his way, and then…

Then it was just as Zanza said.

They hadn’t stood a chance against him. Shulk supposed it was hubris, to attempt to unseat a god, but he had been so certain. He was a survivor. Zanza had failed to kill him- twice over! Alvis had faith in him. They’d defeated Lorithia, Dickson, even a horde of Telethia with ease. 

And more importantly, their cause was just. Providence smiled upon those who fought for what was right, and Zanza had no right over their destinies. Shulk had always been mindful of using his powers for the right causes, to spread peace and protect the innocent. In contrast, Zanza was a detestable monster, corrupted by his own abilities and selfish desires. Shulk was the only one who was able to stop him, and so he had to- for his own future, for his friends’, for the entirety of the Bionis and for what was left of Mechonis. They had no choice but to resist the cruel tyrant, for the sake of their own survival. 

Shulk’s breath caught, and hot tears began to prick at his eyes. 

So how? How had he failed so badly? 

He heard a thunk, and squinting through his bangs, Shulk could see Zanza dropping his feet to the floor. From what Shulk could glimpse, he had donned his gold and white garb once more, though Shulk couldn’t hazard a guess as to why. The boots began striding towards him, and Shulk might have been afraid if he’d had any emotions left to feel. 

“So.” Zanza said, and Shulk shook. He’d hoped Zanza wouldn’t gloat. He should just kill Shulk quickly, and let this all be over. Shulk knew he’d failed, that this had been foolish from the start, that- “You’ve finally learned your place.” 

Shulk could hear the smirk in Zanza’s voice. He took a deep, shuddering breath, fighting the ache of his muscles, and attempted to hoist himself back up onto his leg. White hot pain shot through his body, but he gritted his teeth and swallowed his scream. He had to continue the fight. He wouldn’t allow himself to die in submission. 

A flash of bright light flew below Shulk’s eyes, and a tiny prick of heat burned at his throat. 

“Down.” 

Shulk froze.

“On your knees.” Zanza said, unimpressed, holding his monado steady at Shulk’s neck.

For whatever reason, the threat made Shulk laugh. His shoulders heaved in delirium, and the mirth felt heavier than it ever had before.

Shulk tiled his head up, to look at Zanza once more. 

“Why?” 

Zanza tsked. “Questioning a god, for one.” 

Shulk’s giggles began to die down, withering under the scalding look in Zanza’s eyes. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, only for it to come away smeared in blood.

Shulk hadn’t even noticed he was bleeding.

“What’s,” Shulk asked steadily, eyes focused on the red dripping from his hand, “the point? Who are you gloating to?” 

Everyone else was dead. Shulk knew, because the memories lingered in his brain like parasites feeding off of his attention. Cold skin, still eyes, stopped breath, one by one until it was just Shulk, fending off Zanza on his own.

Just Shulk, cornered, bleeding, too damaged to continue. 

“Just kill me.” Shulk finished. “You’ve done it before.” 

It hadn’t worked, before, but Shulk was pretty sure the third time was the charm. He didn’t have the strength to come back from this one. It hurt just to continue breathing. 

In his periphery, Shulk could see Zanza cock his head. 

“How insolent must you be, to give me an order like that?” 

Come on, Shulk thought, come on. Quit stalling. Just finish this. It was already over, why were they waiting?

“Fixing you will be… amusing,” Zanza said, and Shulk’s chin snapped up.

“Fixing me?” 

Zanza chuckled, and the mocking sound reverberated through Shulk’s bones. 

“Do not be surprised. This world may have come to naught, but I will create again.”

His monado drifted downwards, resting still on the ground as Zanza’s eyes became thoughtful. “Even so, I find myself… entertained, by your struggle.” 

“It’s not a joke!” Shulk spat, but Zanza’s eyes flashed with something unidentifiable. 

“I wonder…” he murmured, reaching down. Shulk snarled when Zanza’s skin brushed against his, index finger tracing his jawline until it rested under his chin. Zanza tilted Shulk’s head up with only the slightest amount of pressure, eyes flicking down to his throat. 

“Could I tame you…?” He asked, staring into Shulk's eyes with a lazy flick of his lashes.

Shulk hoped the alarmed confusion that was currently racing through his blood didn’t show on his face. What on Bionis did that even mean?! 

It must have been apparent, however, because Zanza’s contemplation erupted into a quick smirk. 

“Your free will was a mistake, as you know.” he said. “But you were correct. I sought a toy, not a companion. And who better to possess than you, my little vessel?” 

“I never wanted that!” Shulk argued, jerking back, but he only fell onto his heels. 

“It will be a challenge…” Zanza mused. “But I accept. I will break you… and recreate you in my perfect image.” 

Shulk’s heart beat in his throat. His chest heaved in rapid bursts, and even then he felt deprived of air.

What did that mean? Was Zanza really keeping him alive? For what? A game? The challenge of trying to fit Shulk into his original mold? 

“Why?” Shulk asked again, throat raw. 

Zanza’s gloved hand reached out again, this time brushing Shulk’s bangs away from his eyes. Shulk flinched, but Zanza didn’t seem to mind. “Why? You have served me so well, Shulk. Can a god ever have enough of his precious disciple?”

“I am not your disciple!” Shulk argued hotly, and Zanza drew his hand back. Shulk counted it as a victory, until the god examined the blood staining his fingers in muted wonder. 

“Your denial is meaningless, Shulk.” He said softly. “I won. I will have my prize.” 

Before Shulk could process his words, Zanza had closed in. Shulk attempted to shift away, but to no avail- Zanza’s hands had fastened around his upper arms, holding him fast.

“There is no point to resisting me,” the breath in Shulk’s ear whispered. “This is who you are. I created you for this. You have seen the consequences of struggling against your programming.” 

Shulk was confused. He was so, so lost, but he gritted his teeth all the same. “That won’t stop me.” 

Zanza laughed, and between the noise, heat, and proximity Shulk was forced to shiver.

“Good.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad people liked the first chapter. I've definitely taken ideas into account (even if not yet). also, happy thanksgiving. always happy to ruin it with accursed xenoblade content 
> 
> this chapter is nowhere near as nsfw as it seems at the beginning. dk if that's a good or bad thing but it's a thing

Shulk awoke with a start.

He leaned forwards, blinking rapidly as a room twisted itself into focus. It wasn’t one Shulk had seen before- not his own back in Colony 9, or the glamorous suite at Alcamoth, or the myriad of makeshift campsites that had become more crushingly familiar the further they ventured out. Shulk couldn’t make out the soft starlight of Eryth Sea, or the faint crashing of waves off of the Fallen Arm, or the bitter scent of rust emanating from the Mechonis. 

This room- this nondescript, perfectly cubical, beige room- was entirely new to Shulk, and not many places were nowadays.

Before Shulk could make to stand, in search of any knowledge or answers he could find, he realized why he’d awoken feeling a bit chilly.

He was naked.

That wasn’t accurate. Not entirely so- there was a towel wrapped about his waist- for modesty, if Shulk had to guess, but he didn’t think he had much of that left. His skin was bare from his stomach up and thighs down, which was more than enough to satisfy the imagination. 

Shulk thought he might break his teeth, with how violently he was clenching them. It was a good thing that the room wasn’t freezing, otherwise Shulk may have died on the spot from the mixture of embarrassment and hypothermia. But then again, maybe that would be preferable to whatever situation he found himself in now.

“Zanza!” 

Shulk cursed to himself- something he wasn’t in the habit of doing, but could you blame him? He didn’t know what to make of this. If he had to guess, Zanza had somewhat reasonably seen fit to remove his prisoner’s armor, but that didn’t explain why he hadn’t bothered to provide a replacement. Exposure torture, maybe? The floor certainly was painfully hard, now that Shulk thought about it, and a little dusty as well. It was cold enough to have risen goosebumps along his arms. Shulk hated the feeling of the air against his skin, the look of unprotected exposure. He’d always favored heavier clothing. It was a comfortable weight against his body, anchoring him in times of distress. Were these perhaps humiliation tactics? 

Before Shulk could process the situation further, he was interrupted by the explosion of golden light at his back. 

“Where,” Shulk found himself spinning around and asking, “are my clothes.” 

Zanza didn’t have to look so pleased with himself. “I’ve taken the liberty of confiscating them.” 

Shulk usually enjoyed asking questions, but now was a distinct exception. “Why.” 

“You are my favorite, Shulk, but I can hardly have you becoming spoiled.” Zanza sighed as he landed on the floor, striding around Shulk at a deliberative pace. 

“Spoiled?” Shulk echoed, fists clenched. 

“Yes. My other followers are jealous… as they should be.” Zanza chuckled, tracing his fingers along Shulk’s shoulder. “Such a shame that you’re so ungrateful. You could be so tempting on my arm.”

“I don’t believe you. You can hardly spoil a tool.” Shulk said through grit teeth, batting away every lingering touch. 

“Regardless, there ought to be justice due for a worm foolish enough to defy me.” Zanza scoffed. He finally stepped away, but his eyes traced the dip of Shulk’s collarbone, resting there as tangibly as if he’d reached out and touched it.

“You haven’t answered my question.” Shulk pointed out, crossing his arms over his chest. Despite the loss of his new favorite sight, Zanza seemed all too happy to elaborate.

“You have lost your rights both as a consequence for your betrayal, and as an educational opportunity. It is a grave sin to disobey one’s master, after all.” 

Zanza’s eyes fastened onto Shulk's face now, searing through his skin. “You cannot covet what lies beyond your station. That temptation only leads to ruin. You need only follow exactly as I say, Shulk."

That didn’t explain anything. “Well- that’s hardly a reason why you would take-“ 

“I won’t deny that aspects of this exercise were pleasurable, to me.” Nothing about this was funny, but Zanza still laughed. “Punishment can still be fun, can it not?” 

Shulk felt numb. “I think that’d rather defeat the purpose.” 

Zanza swiped his bangs away with a dismissive hand, looking back up to Shulk’s eyes with a grin still playing upon his lips. “I never said you would be the one enjoying yourself.”

If Zanza liked it this much when Shulk was in pain, Shulk might as well give up right now. 

“Give me my clothing back, Zanza,” Shulk said as authoritatively as he could manage in makeshift boxers and nothing else. For what it was worth, his voice didn’t quiver as much as it could have.

“No.” Zanza replied succinctly. Shulk realized, as his heart sunk, that his good mood seemed to have been spoiled. 

Right. Orders.

Zanza turned away, chin still pronounced in the air. “You will earn privileges when I deem you deserving, vessel, and no sooner.” 

“Deserving? How would I…” Shulk allowed his voice to trail off, biting his own tongue with a wince. That was what Zanza wanted. Shulk couldn’t defer to Zanza’s rules, no matter what it might cost him.

In a flash, Zanza was back in Shulk’s face, tapping his nose with a smile.

“Perhaps you should pray, just like every other worshipper.” He suggested, before unhelpfully immaterializing into a mist of golden dust. 

Shulk couldn’t hold the fury back from his face.

“Zanza!” He shouted, as though his intolerable head would poke back through the glitter for more quarreling. “No! Get-!” 

Shulk cut himself off with a groan, miserable and infuriated and defeated. He paced around the room in a whirl of fuming energy, even bravely attacking one of the plain walls with his foot.

It didn’t work. 

Shulk belatedly noticed why Zanza looked so blurry. “Even my glasses?!” 

That egotistical, petty-! 

As Shulk soon found out, no amount of incensed cries could summon the god back from whatever divine rabbit hole he’d retreated into. Half-certain that Zanza was watching somewhere, in a fit of giggles over Shulk’s attempts at resistance, Shulk resolved to stop shouting and gather his thoughts. His voice had become hoarse, anyways. It seemed that water was a privilege Shulk was too insolent to be afforded, along with food, or a bed, or maybe some nice wallpaper. 

The featureless walls were starting to gnaw at his unstimulated brain. 

Leaning against one of them, Shulk let his head loll back and began to think. Unsurprisingly, the frustration began to creep back before long. It was difficult to come up with a plan with no materials to work with, and Shulk wasn’t willing to use his measly towel for anything other than its current purpose. 

Shulk resolved, as he attempted to kick the dust into an unused corner of the room, that he was effectively stuck. 

He hated being lost like this. He remembered feeling a lesser version of this frustration before. Back home, Shulk would take on building projects- weapons for Reyn and Fiora, small repairs for the villagers, just watches and such, and his pet project-

Shulk’s stomach twisted, folding into itself like a crushed sheet of metal.

He hadn’t felt like this since trying to figure out the Monado. 

That was what he was reminded of. The infuriating dead end of immovable panes of glass, the untouchable mystery of a sword with no background, no rules, and power so great it could be divine. 

There was nothing Shulk hated more than a problem with no solution. 

That, more than anything, was what began to grate on him as the clock ticked on. There was nothing to be done, because nothing could be done, and Shulk didn’t even have the ability to formulate a plan. There were no options, no predictions, no data to analyze. Shulk was alone. 

Boredom laid heavy on his heart. Shulk was well known for being inquisitive. He always had a project or a study, and his hands were never idle. Whether they were fiddling with a machine or furiously scratching down notes, they had never been as still as they were now. It felt unnatural. 

He laid on the floor, curled up, and lost track of time. At first Shulk counted. He kept track of every second, sometimes tracing the more momentous numbers into the floor besides him. 100. 1,000. 5,000. 

They increased without abandon, and somewhere around 5,681 Shulk didn’t have the wherewithal to count anymore. He let the numbers fade from his mind, and without the rhythm to concentrate on, the room felt all the more empty. 

Shulk had every part of it memorized. On one day he’d searched the walls as thoroughly as he could, first studying each patch of discoloration, then running his fingers along them. He found himself relying on touch more and more, now that his sight was effectively gone. Every bump, scratch, and groove ran under his hands, and before long, Shulk knew his surroundings as well as he possibly could.

Not that it helped. There were no clues to escape, no passages or doors or windows to speak of. Shulk wondered how he had been placed inside of the room to begin with, but he supposed that the power of a god went beyond reason. 

It was easier to start counting again than think about how hopeless his situation was. This time, Shulk only made it to 3,447. 

Sometimes, so incurably lost for entertainment, Shulk would wonder what would happen if he gave in. Maybe saying a few words of submission was a fair trade for clothes and food, and the slightest taste of freedom. After all, his stomach ached in ravenous emptiness, and his tongue laid heavy in his mouth, bone dry. It was getting harder to summon the strength to pace about the room, then simply to stand, then to sit up, as his muscles began to cave in to the frantic begging of his deprived body, shuddering and giving out rather than straining to support him any longer.

Shulk always ended up scowling at the thought, though. No matter how desperate he got, he couldn’t forget his convictions. He didn’t need to earn these things. Zanza had stolen them from him, and Shulk wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of watching Shulk beg.

6,093. A new record. Shulk was almost happy. 

It wasn’t that Shulk was prideful, or arrogant. Most denizens of Colony 9 told him the exact opposite- that he needed to take credit for his accomplishments, and hold his head a little higher. Shulk had never seen the need, though. They all knew him. What was the point of self-aggrandizing? 

The situation was the problem here, Zanza specifically. Shulk was perfectly capable of asking for help from reasonable people when he needed it- well, in theory he was. In reality he worried he didn’t deserve it; he worked himself into a frenzy and swallowed his thoughts like bitter pills. If only he scrubbed the pain from his face, stamped down the stress, maybe it would all melt away. 

Though, Shulk thought with a pang, that was likely Zanza’s doing as well. What better follower than one who depended on you and you alone? Of course he wanted to intrude with terrible thoughts, and push Shulk away from his confidants. It was all part of his plan.

That was why Shulk could never bow to him. He’d decided that in his latest half-awake stupor, staring up at the manila ceiling with dull eyes. It was probably better to unceremoniously starve in this forsaken room than live as a trophy on Zanza’s shelf. 

It was lucky Shulk had decided that, too, because it was the last thing he remembered thinking before everything went dark.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://youtu.be/rFoJXelIy9I?t=1139
> 
> also tw for suicidal ideation, body image

Shulk didn’t even receive the mercy of being unconscious for an hour. 

Light beat down on his fluttering eyelids, and Shulk, as he stirred, found himself sorely disappointed at still being alive. 

Certainly, he’d been close to freedom. Shulk had undergone too many near-death experiences to count, and had died a few times more than the average Homs over the course of his life. He knew when death was approaching, and that had been it.

But Shulk was alive.

He realized, belatedly, that he was warm. He could feel heat radiating from something close, enveloping him like those sunny childhood days at Outlook Park. 

Shulk’s heart panged. Days he would never have again.

Because he was in Zanza’s prison.

Shulk’s eyes shot open at the realization, panic gripping his heart and squeezing like a vice. He was still in danger. The heat-

Just as Shulk suspected. The warmth- and light, for that matter, Shulk had to squint and shield his eyes- was emanating from the figure kneeling above him.

“Ah, good, you’ve awoken.” Zanza purred. The intimacy didn’t sound right in that mighty, echoing voice. “I was so scared I’d lost you…” 

Shulk scowled at the mockery and Zanza had the nerve to laugh, just as cruel as ever. 

“It was no jest,” he said, brushing Shulk’s hair back from his eyes. “I would absolutely hate to be deprived of my favorite toy. You’ve been the most amusing thing to play with.” 

“I wouldn’t think twice about your death,” Shulk snapped back, in a statement that might have had more bite had his voice not been weak and hoarse. 

Zanza didn’t even seem to register the threat. He simply looked down, pity streaming from his gaze, falling like drips of acid onto Shulk’s skin.

“I don’t like you this frail,” he whispered. “When you struggle, it’s- my, I don’t think I’ve ever used this word. It’s cute. I love breaking you.”

“I’m not-“ Shulk coughed, struggling to catch his breath. “Not for your-“

Zanza shushed him. His face drifted closer, and Shulk attempted unsuccessfully to phase through the floor in an attempt to get away from him. 

He wasn’t having much luck nowadays. 

Zanza stopped, hovering only a hair above Shulk. He was close enough to touch Shulk, who hoped desperately that he wouldn’t. Shulk blinked rapidly under Zanza’s piercing gaze, heart thumping so violently that he was nearly certain Zanza could feel it through his chest.

Zanza brought his open lips just over Shulk’s mouth and exhaled. His breath fanned over Shulk’s face, hanging dense on the bare skin, and the disgust Shulk expected never came. 

Instead, energy began to shoot through Shulk’s veins. The ache of hunger began to abate, receding as naturally as a tidal wave, and his fatigue lifted just as easily. 

As soon as Zanza withdrew Shulk panted, trying to assimilate the sudden rush. His muscles twitched. 

“What-“

“An ether infusion,” Zanza said lowly, “to sustain you.” 

Shulk didn’t want to admit it, but that was interesting. He remembered reviving Melia in a similar way- his stomach turned at the thought of her, unravelling in guilt- but significantly less… touchy. He’d always been interested in the properties of ether, both in the lights of Sartorl Marsh and the technology of the Nopon, and- 

“Now.”

Shulk looked up, only to find Zanza towering over him. When had he stood up?

“I want you to know that this was unacceptable behavior.” Zanza crossed his arms over his chest. “To disobey this egregiously when you were already under probation? It's preposterous. I would not advise you to intentionally try my patience, vessel.” 

Shulk dipped his head down, staring at the floor in silent protest. Why was Zanza surprised by this? Of course Shulk would fight, he knew that, he’d said it himself! 

Zanza responded quickly, as though he could read Shulk’s thoughts- and Shulk realized, with a queasy jolt, that he likely could. 

“Your struggle is amusing, but your compliance will always be preferable. Know that if you starve yourself again, I will make ether your permanent diet. You will live solely from my touch.” 

A shiver jolted Shulk’s body. 

No, absolutely not. He would say that he’d rather die, but that didn’t seem to be an option anymore. 

That horrifying realization flashed in Shulk’s mind like a zap of electricity.

He’d have to find another way out.

Shulk scrambled to his feet, wobbling a little. He had to act quickly if he wanted any questions answered. 

“Where am I?” Shulk demanded. “What happened to the Bionis?”

“Does it matter?” Zanza hissed. 

“I want to know!” 

“Liminal space.” Zanza finally snapped. “The Bionis was consumed. I recreated the world, as I said I would, and deposited you in a… cage, of sorts.” 

All thoughts of plans vanished from Shulk’s mind.

“You really destroyed it.” Shulk repeated, dumbfounded. “All of it.” 

He was completely stuck. There was nowhere else in existence to run to.

And, worst of all, his whole world was gone.

He probably should have assumed that Zanza would raze the Bionis, but it just didn’t feel real. Shulk had just been there, had smelled the saltwater in the sea, heard the soft chirping of Makna Forest, seen the bright sunlight in Colony 9. His home- everywhere he had ever been- it was all destroyed. 

“My friends…” he whispered, voice shaking. “Egil, Kallian, Meyneth… they all died for nothing.” 

Shulk heard his own cry before he processed what was happening.

He winced as his cheek dug into the plaster, gasping for breath through his pain. Zanza had bent his arm backwards and driven him into the wall just behind, body pressed flush against Shulk’s bare skin.

“This isn’t about her.” Zanza’s breath fell hot and heavy onto Shulk’s neck. 

“She-“ 

“Rebellion is amusing until I start to remove limbs.” Zanza jerked Shulk’s arm upwards, painfully straining the ligament. He grinned at Shulk’s whimper of pain. “Don’t test me.”

Shulk decided to stay quiet.

“I cannot even begin to comprehend your thinking,” Zanza said. He nudged his grip further into Shulk’s back, squeezing him against the wall. “You already have my attention, and yet, you call for more. You’re just so greedy, Shulk. Always wanting.”

Shulk worked hard to move his jaw. “You’ve been-“

“Merciful.” Zanza finished. “I’m done with that now.” 

Mercy?! Shulk could laugh. Was Zanza really so arrogant as to believe that he was doing Shulk a favor? 

Suddenly, the heat of Zanza’s body was gone.

Shulk instantly pulled away from the wall, relieved at the loss of pressure, and clutched his injured arm close to his body. He spun around to face Zanza, wary of showing his back to the god. 

Zanza straightened, and bored into Shulk with focused eyes.

“You belong to me, and you are going to learn obedience.” He said.

How ironic. This would be a first for Shulk. He had always been a good child- he was quiet, and didn’t talk back, and got perfect grades. He’d never had to worry about discipline before. 

Not that Dickson had particularly cared what Shulk was doing, so long as he was alive, and had at least one working arm. 

“I will never obey you.” Shulk spat, with as much vitriol as he could muster. He snapped his head up to look at Zanza, teeth grit. “You may have created this world, but I cannot allow you to control it. You’ve abused your power for far too long.” 

“I am far from the unreasonable tyrant you think of me as.” Zanza sniffed. His jaw was twitching. “I granted you life. I quite think serving me would be the least you could do.”

Shulk swept his good arm across in a wild gesture. “You’re the one who killed me to begin with! I don’t owe you anything!” 

Zanza launched forwards again.

Shulk’s back hit the wall, followed by his skull with a dull thump. Shulk groaned, head lolling in a brief dizzy spell when he realized Zanza’s hands were fastened tight around his neck.

“What- are you-“ Shulk choked, squirming in Zanza’s grip. He grabbed onto Zanza’s hands, desperate, fingers scratching for a hold to pull back on.

Shulk’s mind began to race as his lungs and throat caught fire. What was Zanza doing? He’d been very clear about his goals, and they weren’t Shulk’s death. Was he proving that he could kill Shulk, if he wanted to? Had he changed his mind altogether? 

His bruising grip gradually began to lessen, until Shulk finally managed to rip Zanza’s hands away and let his body fall. He doubled over, wheezing until the room stopped spinning. 

Shulk’s hands jumped to his sore neck, checking for injuries, but instead brushed against cold metal.

That hadn’t been there before.

Something was now fastened around Shulk’s neck. Too tight to be a necklace- a collar. He tried to pull at it, but the ring sat so snug that his fingers couldn’t slip under it. 

“Why?” Shulk demanded. It wasn’t heavy enough to encumber his head, nor was it anchored anywhere to chain him in place. Its sole purpose seemed to be weighing on his neck, alien and ornamental, constricting whenever Shulk took a breath. 

“A reminder.” Zanza said simply. Shulk scowled. 

“Of what?!” 

“Your purpose, my trophy.” 

Before Shulk could respond, or even process his half-finished plans to strike back, the collar sparked, white hot, searing his skin. He gasped in pain, gnawing on the inside of his cheek to keep his screams at bay.

The fire began to spread, molten in Shulk’s veins and scorching on the surface of his skin. He recognized the sensation of burning from years ago when he’d accidentally brushed against a stove, attempting to help Fiora with dinner, but that pain was nothing compared to the agony he was feeling now. 

“I created you.” Zanza purred, faintly audible over Shulk’s growing panic. “Every part of your body already belongs to me.” 

Shulk’s eyes widened in horror when he saw the patterns blooming on his skin, trailing after the scalding sensation- the same patterns that adorned Zanza’s golden suit.

Oh no. 

“You are mine, to use in whatever way I see fit.” Zanza finished. “You will do well to remember that.” 

Shulk remembered being young, and noticing the markings on the domesticated Armu in Colony 9. At the time, he’d asked why they didn’t appear on the wild animals he saw roaming by the sea, on the grass by Anti-Air Battery 1. He remembered being older, and watching the citizens in the fledgling Colony 6 press hot irons to the animals, leaving behind identifying burns. He realized what this was.

Zanza was branding him. 

Like an animal. Like a piece of property. 

In Shulk’s periphery, the room began to spin. Ordinarily he would look up to inspect the phenomenon, or to pinpoint Zanza’s location, but now he didn’t have the strength. He couldn’t rip his eyes from the gold staining his skin.

This feeling was sickeningly familiar. It was the same dread that had consumed him just after the events at Mechonis Core, the first time he had learned that his body was not truly his own. 

It was too much to bear. 

Shulk scratched at his skin, digging his nails into the flesh and pulling. He felt claustrophobic, trapped in his own body- trapped in Zanza’s body- with no way out, and walls closing in. The golden marks shackled him down to this infernal prison in a dimension of nothing.

Just looking down at his own body was unbearable, now. It had been hard even after initially seeing his similarities to Zanza, but at least then Shulk could take solace in their differences. A rounder jaw, shorter hair- these were enough to comfort Shulk’s aching heart. 

Now, however, it was all Zanza’s. Shulk’s chest, emblazoned with the eye-like design, his arms, encircled with stray lines, his legs, with U shapes traced up and down, the hands he used to build weapons, that had carried him through battles, that had comforted his friends, all of it, lost to Zanza!

Shulk desperately fought for breath, blinking rapidly to keep his sight functional. He only barely managed a glimpse of Zanza, standing above him with an emotion Shulk didn’t recognize. 

Zanza pivoted around himself, making to leave, and Shulk’s heart nearly burst out of his chest. He felt on the verge of losing consciousness.

“Wait!”

Zanza turned back, surveying Shulk with a cold stare. Shulk’s eyes darted around the floor. He couldn’t believe he was doing this.

“Could I have some clothes.”

Shulk hated the way Zanza’s eyes lit up, victorious. He hated the way Zanza approached in shining splendor, and hated the way he said “good boy,” in that mocking tone.

But he had to do this. 

“Of course, it wasn’t perfect. We’ll have to work on your manners. There’s nothing worse than a misbehaving pet,” Zanza said affectionately, and Shulk bristled at the casual dehumanization.

“I’m a homs,” he reminded Zanza, stung, though he was certain Zanza was already well aware. 

Zanza hummed, face contorting in mock thought. “Are you certain that you want to argue with me right now?” 

Shulk bit his tongue painfully hard to keep from screaming. 

He needed to concentrate on covering up the marks.

“In fact, since you were so rude, I think that your request wasn’t quite enough.” Zanza sat back on thin air, and the rays of light twisted into the facsimile of a throne beneath him. 

He leaned into the palm of his hand. “I want you to beg.” 

“No,” Shulk said, without thinking.

Zanza’s eyebrow quirked, infuriatingly. 

“No?” he repeated. “Then no garments.”

Then Shulk was stuck in nothing but his skin, which wasn’t even his own anymore.

Nausea rose up in Shulk’s chest, but it seemed that he didn’t really have a choice. His head dropped, bangs bobbing slightly, and he sighed the heaviest he’d ever before.

“Alright.” 

Shulk dropped to his knees, unable to care about the sharp ache in his kneecaps after they crashed to the floor. His shoulders fell in defeat as he took a deep, shuddering breath, filling his whole body with stale air. 

“Zanza,” he began, but the god shook his head.

“Lord Zanza.”

“Lord Zanza,” Shulk corrected. The word tasted bitter on his tongue. “Please.” 

Shulk was only just able to force the plea out of his throat. He closed his eyes, hoping, praying that it satisfied Zanza.

“Now, was that so hard?” The voice above Shulk said, and Shulk hoped that the tears he was fighting were answer enough. 

Golden light congealed just in front of him, melting away to reveal a bundle of cloth. Shulk grabbed at it, as though it was liable to disappear just as quickly. He could cry from relief.

“Dress for me,” Zanza murmured, low and throaty. 

Shulk glared at him. Really? He wanted credit for something Shulk would do anyways?

It didn’t matter. Shulk pulled the clothing over his head, exhaling in visible relief when the golden marks were mostly hidden from his sight. He knew that they were still there, could see them peeking out from the edges of his garments, but the larger pattern was hidden and Shulk could ignore it if he made an effort.

Zanza had made him desperate.

The man himself chuckled. “Don’t look so morose. This is simply the natural order of things.” 

Shulk hugged his arms to his chest. The clothes hadn't been enough to quell the raw feeling of vulnerability creeping along his skin. Internally, he fought to gather his thoughts, trying to muster the strength to respond once more.

“Some are born are born as gods, and some to serve.” Zanza said, lounging back and glancing around, disinterested. “There is no use to fighting the way of the world. It is as futile as, say, kicking a wall.” 

Zanza flicked his eyes over to Shulk in languid amusement, and Shulk’s ears flushed red. 

So he had been watching. 

“At least I’m trying to make things right.” Shulk managed to protest. 

“Trying, but not succeeding…” Zanza mused. “I wonder...”

He leaned close, too close, boring into Shulk with his half-lidded eyes. Shulk couldn’t find the strength to move, though every atom in his body screamed for him to.

“What would you have done, if you had killed me? Would you have taken on the mantle of a god?” Zanza cocked his head. “Did you want the power, Shulk?”

“No!” Shulk shook his head vehemently. That answer came easily. “I could never be a god.” 

“Interesting.” Zanza’s lips curled up in that way that Shulk hated, the way that meant he was ahead. “So you acknowledge your inferiority. Why then, are you so opposed to worshipping those above you? Are you just insolent? I thought you too intelligent for that.” 

“There should be no worship. Nobody should be a god.” Shulk fired back. “Least of all you.” 

Zanza clicked his tongue. 

“Who has the power to decide the right to divinity?” he asked. “Only a god. For all of your protests, Shulk, you act very much like one.” 

Bile rose up in Shulk’s throat, and for once in his life, he wished very desperately that he had enough arrogance to take the title from Zanza once and for all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so who called me out on dirty confessions


	4. Chapter 4

Shulk cried a lot nowadays.

It was an odd feeling. He hadn’t cried often as a child; or even after life-changing tragedies like Fiora’s death. Shulk usually experienced misery in dull silence, like a heavy blanket weighing on his shoulders. 

Now, however, the tears spilled in rushing cascades. Shulk was never entirely certain why he was crying- whether it was frustration, or grief, or pain, or some jumbled slew of them all. He cried for his friends, for his home, for himself. 

Shulk had collapsed after Zanza had finally left, still shaking in fury but too tired to take any action. He had sat there, slumped against the wall, for hours, trying to blink back the tears of anger. Crying would only legitimize Zanza's victory. The new clothing at least gave his twitching fingers something to pull at, some texture to feel as his overworked mind ran itself into the ground. 

Shulk tried counting again, if only to distract himself from his own emotions.

The highest he reached was 191.

In the days that followed- long, agonizing days, where Shulk stayed hunched over so long his back began to ache- he found himself thinking often of the people he’d left behind. Shulk remembered his friends, who had fought so readily at his side, against odds that seemed so conquerable back when they had all been together. He had never had the concession of mourning, nor even a body to cement the reality of their deaths. The Bionis had swallowed them up sooner than Shulk could scream. 

Afterwards, when he had first been captured by Zanza, Shulk had intentionally stopped himself from thinking about his friends, his home, his world. The sorrow and heartache was too much to bear, when Shulk was barely able to bring himself to fight the god. 

So he thought of his friends now, exhausted and alone in this dim room with nothing else in the world that was his but his past. Shulk worked to commit it all to memory- their smiles, and words of affirmation, and the burning, unquestioning support in their eyes- tracing clumsy likenesses onto the floor beside him with his index finger. Shulk had never been much of an artist, not like Melia was, but years of experience with field sketches made him passable enough. 

Shulk tried to imagine what they might say to him now. Perhaps he would receive a philosophical quote about motivation from Dunban, or concern about his mental wellbeing from Reyn. Mostly, he thought that they wouldn’t want him to give in. 

Shulk just didn’t know how much fight was left in him.

His eyes burned, red from being rubbed by his knuckles, and his head throbbed in pain. Shulk would have to stand eventually, from where he had curled up on the dusty floor, but summoning the strength was difficult. He didn’t even feel bored anymore, only hollow and flimsy- like a thin sheet of paper, crumpled and thrown into a corner. 

What would Shulk even do? Pace back around the interdimensional box Zanza had shoved his new pet into? Shout again at the bemused god? He couldn’t win, couldn’t die, and couldn’t fight back. Shulk had barely had the strength to ask for food lately, weak and hoarse, though only when he felt himself about to succumb. He didn’t want to beg for his basic needs, but it was far preferable to awakening in Zanza’s arms again, siphoning strength from his own captor. 

Zanza had been kind enough to not appear in person lately, instead sending things down in those stupid rays of light for Shulk to eat. He wasn’t absent, however. Shulk could always feel Zanza’s eyes on him, detachedly amused by his self-denial in the attempt to rebel, but Shulk would rather entertain him by eating plain food from his own hands than beg for silverware or a table. 

At least, that’s what he told himself. 

He knew that Zanza was winning their battle of wills so far. Every conflict had ended with Shulk gradually acquiescing. Shulk ate how the god wanted him to, stayed put in the bare cage designed for him, and even wore Zanza’s chosen clothing. 

And that was another thing- the clothing. 

It was, in a word, ridiculous. White as Valak Mountain at noon, the outfit was obviously modeled after what Zanza himself wore. It exposed Shulk’s back entirely, scooping down to gather into a belt at his waist, where two slits traveled down the sides of his legs. Though, it was somewhat more modest than the god’s rendition- the garment didn’t cling skin-tight at every opportunity, and the gaps at Shulk’s thighs were covered with light gossamer, which, while not substantive, was far better than nothing. 

That was the emerging rule, Shulk was realizing. In ordinary circumstances, being forced into this revealing attire would be reason enough to spark outrage. Now, however, he favored it over the alternative. Shulk was grateful to have any coverage at all. 

More than in the past, Shulk found his thoughts wandering to those of surrender. Now he realized that, for all of his struggling, he didn’t know what exactly Zanza wanted from him. 

Shulk stared forwards, dull eyes not entirely focused on the identical corner opposite him. What would happen if he did decide to give in? He’d avoided thinking about Zanza’s perspective before, consciously, but now, lying on his side in defeat, he had no choice but to consider the alternatives to his situation. 

Zanza wanted fealty, that much was obvious, but why? Was it ego? Then why not just kill Shulk, rather than force him to obey? He had mentioned wanting to correct Shulk, but he had to be capable of some sort of mind control or mental reprogramming. Why go through all this trouble in the first place? Why Shulk? 

That was the question, Shulk realized. Why him? Why, of every creature on the Bionis, did Zanza choose to possess him? And why now did he still refuse to give up? 

Shulk wished he hadn't stopped counting. He didn’t know how long he had been in this room. It could be days, or weeks, or months. Somehow each felt plausible. Shulk had been here forever, and he had only just arrived. 

His head was spinning. 

Shulk pressed a hand to his forehead experimentally. His vision shorted, and Shulk held his breath in response. It seemed that he couldn’t ignore the ache in his stomach any longer. 

“Zanza,” Shulk called, voice frail, letting his head drop back to the floor. “I need food.”

It was neutral enough. Not an order, yet not a plea either- a simple statement. Shulk did need food.

“Shulk…” Zanza's voice came in return, chastising. “Surely, you can do better than that.” 

Of course, Shulk thought, almost bitterly enough to feel anger again. Of course now, for the first time in- weeks? Maybe?- there would be trouble. 

“I was told to ask.” 

“And you’ve been doing so well,” it purred, and discomfort rose quickly in Shulk’s chest, “but I want more.” 

“Why?” Shulk whined, and shut his eyes. Hadn’t Zanza taken enough from him already? 

A flash of white light sparked before him, and Shulk didn’t even have the energy to flinch back like usual. Zanza stood above him, arms crossed, looking less than amused.

“On your knees.” He ordered.

Shulk was reminded of how this nightmare had all started- with him, kneeling in defeat, bleeding and exhausted beyond comprehension. Zanza had towered over him then, seeming near insurmountable in his power.

He hadn’t even known how bad things would get.

“I know that you heard me, Shulk,” Zanza said, voice strained, though not angry yet. “I want you to ask me again, on your knees.” 

“I shouldn’t have to.” Shulk protested, and Zanza sighed, long and labored.

He ran his hand through his hair. “How many times must this happen, Shulk? You challenge a god, with infinite power and all the time in the world. You will not escape from me or my wants. These little demonstrations prove nothing.”

“Why?” Shulk demanded, suddenly filled with energy. He sat up.

If Zanza was in a talkative mood, he was going to seize this opportunity to have his questions answered. 

“Why not just kill me?” Shulk asked, hoisting himself to his feet. “Why am I so special? Why take me as your vessel? Why not just steal my mind, and force me to do as you say?” 

Something heavy pushed down onto Shulk’s shoulders, and his knees buckled under the weight. He attempted to stand back up, but found himself stuck in place, as though a solid ceiling hovered just above his head. 

Perhaps he shouldn’t have given Zanza the idea.

Zanza stared at him, cold and unrelenting.

“It is not your place to ask questions. Now, on the ground, Shulk.” 

“I have to know,” Shulk confessed, perhaps too empathetically for his own good. Pleading had begun to seep into his voice. 

Something like pity flashed in Zanza’s eyes, and his expression turned to a simpering smile. 

“You’re lucky that I favor you so much. What would have happened to another little mortal, as insolent as you?” Zanza asked, sympathetic. There were too many teeth in his grin for Shulk to take comfort in the gesture.

“You won’t answer?” Shulk asked, shivering at how pathetic he sounded. Zanza looked more tired than angry now.

“This conversation is finished. Ask me for permission to eat, or I will leave.” 

Shulk pushed down the molten anxiety that was filling up his heart. He couldn’t collapse again. He didn't have a choice.

He dipped his head down, pressing his forehead to the ground in submission. 

“Can I have some food?” 

In his periphery, Shulk could see Zanza cross one leg over the other, hovering in midair. “You know that’s not good enough.” 

“But I-“

“Add.” Zanza said, testily. “The missing words.” 

Shulk had been doing this for weeks, but it never got easier.

“Please,” he said, voice trembling, “Lord Zanza.” 

A bit of bread appeared before him- nothing fancy, or filling, only the most basic reward for Shulk’s good behavior. Shulk made a conscious effort to eat it less ravenously than his deprived body screamed for him to. He didn’t want to give Zanza the satisfaction. 

Zanza’s shoulders dropped in exasperation. “Goodness. You would think I asked the world of you.” 

No, Shulk thought to himself, you already took my world, without asking.

“I am hardly an unreasonable god.” Zanza scoffed. “I have treated you with endless patience, only asking that you behave. Showing deference to your lord is the least you could do.”

He’d read Shulk again. Shulk finished his meager meal in silence, now working carefully to keep his mind blank. He would have to think later, when he was alone. 

“What privacy exists between us, vessel, after we have shared so intimate a connection?” Zanza snapped, massaging his temple in frustration. “I witnessed the barest parts of your soul while residing in your mind. You cannot hide from me.” 

“You don’t really understand me.” Shulk said. With his hunger satiated, he’d grown momentarily bold. “You’re a selfish tyrant. You only care about yourself.” 

“Well, of course.” Zanza smiled, tapping the side of his chin. “The issue is that you don’t care about my desires. I’m not looking for you to be my friend, Shulk.”

Zanza stood, and walked over to his still kneeling captive. He ran his fingers through Shulk’s hair- tangled and overgrown, now- and held a fistful of locks up. 

Shulk fought not to look, but he could feel Zanza's breath on the side of his face. 

“I want the pleasure of you- my enemy, my would-be killer- serving me.”

So this was about power. Power over Shulk, and Zanza’s other adversaries- a living symbol of deference, to serve as a warning for all others who would defy Zanza’s will.

“Lavender.”

Shulk looked up at the nonsense word, musings forgotten.

“Huh?” 

“You smell of lavender.” Zanza said, definitively, Shulk's hair still pressed to his lips. 

The unknown term sparked a curiosity in Shulk that he didn’t want to admit to- but the question was almost too much to bear.

“I don’t know what that is.” Shulk admitted. He risked another glance upwards, which revealed Zanza’s face uncharacteristically blank as he let go of the curl. 

“It didn’t grow on the Bionis.” Zanza said. “I forgot.” 

He straightened, and turned, waving an idle hand. “I think I will place it in this new world.” 

Before Shulk could think to ask why, he had disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is more of an "I'm not dead" chapter, more stuff is gonna happen in the next one I've just had a lot goin on irl
> 
> also thank you all for your support and suggestions! I've been considering a lot of them and I'd really like to hear more plot ideas if anyone has em because despite what it may seem I have no earthly idea what I'm doing here


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am honestly shocked that people still care about this shitpost? I still dk if I'm happy with this chapter and I'm not making any promises for speedy updates, but thank you all for your support.

Shulk was just so tired.

He had been trapped in Zanza’s pocket dimension for far too long. It was difficult to summon even disgust at this point, for Zanza’s myriad abuses or the deep unfairness of Shulk’s situation. Everything weighed so constant on Shulk’s mind- grief for his friends and home, revulsion at Zanza’s attempts to tame him, and the faint vestiges of his determination to exist.

Shulk knew that this was what Zanza wanted. He was wearing down, like a blurred tread on the wheel of an old buggy, but what choice did he have? 

There was no way to distract from his despair. If Shulk searched the empty room one more time he might vomit, and that at the very least might constitute a distinguishing feature for once. He’d tried pushups, once, because Reyn always said that they cleared his head, but the exercise only made Shulk sore and sweaty. He couldn’t even retreat into his own mind, because he feared the awful vortex of misery he would find there.

His friends told him often that he had to speak to them about his feelings. Shulk was liable to fold into himself under pressure.

And that was what Zanza wanted. 

Shulk clutched at his head. He had thought through this line of logic so many times, always praying for a fault. He had no choice but to submit or resist, and with no more strength to fight back…

His fingers tensed.

He’d been sleeping every chance he could, because at least the nightmares were something different to look at. Perhaps if Shulk wasted away in stillness, he might finally bore his tormentor enough to be let go. 

If only. 

Shulk could feel tears beginning to prick at his eyes again, but he hadn’t cried in… a long time. The heat just built up behind his eyes endlessly, as though to mock him as he rubbed them raw. 

Light began to bleed through his fingers. Shulk could feel dread crawling up his spine. 

Zanza. 

Shulk dropped his fist from his face gingerly. Zanza didn’t appear often without being begged to. In fact, he hadn’t appeared in person since- 

Since a long time ago. 

Unvocalized questions flitted through Shulk’s dulling mind. Why was Zanza here? What did he want? And-

Shulk squinted. Were those people with him? 

No. Not Homs- they seemed more like High Entia than anything else, but their features were more alien, hidden behind concealing armor. Even so, Shulk’s heart sputtered and stopped. 

He wasn’t alone. There was more in this universe, more than Zanza-

Zanza, who the pair hadn’t torn their eyes from since they had appeared. Shulk’s head dropped, dangling just over his chest. He didn’t know why he had been so excited. They were probably just worshippers, here to execute Zanza’s will.

If anything, Shulk should be terrified. What could Zanza possibly want that he couldn’t accomplish himself? 

It was then that Shulk realized that the god hadn’t even looked at Shulk yet. He had turned profile with instructions, as though the collapsed Homs at his feet didn’t exist at all. 

“Bathe him,” Zanza told the attendants, tilting his head towards Shulk, and Shulk’s chin snapped up in response. 

“No!” 

That sounded like torture! Shulk couldn’t bear the thought of showing his body as it was now, seared in gold to signify Zanza’s ownership. He absolutely loathed this overture of objectification, feeling like a particularly interesting sample on display in Zanza’s lab. He hated the thought that someone else might see him like this, and assume that Shulk had always been so ornamental.

When the word left his lips, however, Shulk realized how foolish he’d been, shutting his eyes and bracing himself for the inevitable rebuke. 

It took a few devastating moments of silence for Shulk to finally wrench his eyes open, taken aback by the deafening lack of explosion. He hoped that Zanza wasn’t taking the time to think of a creative punishment for his disobedient vessel. 

“Alright,” Zanza replied, and Shulk exhaled a breath along with all of the tension in his body. He felt liable to collapse.

“…what?” Shulk asked, looking up in confusion. 

Had Zanza really acquiesced something to him? 

“You heard correctly.” Zanza said, and he really shouldn’t look so smug, giving Shulk a basic privilege like that. “I told you before; I am a generous lord, if only you surrender yourself to me.” 

Generous. Generous. This was what Zanza considered generous, and Shulk hated the relief flowing through his veins, the genuine thankfulness he was trying so hard to push down and bury in some dark corner of his mind. 

“Some gratitude would not go amiss,” Zanza said, grinning, and Shulk knew that he’d read the horrible thought. It didn’t even take effort to muster up a scowl. 

“Why should I thank you?” Shulk asked, balling his fists. He’d bathed himself since he was four years old- which was when Zanza had killed his parents, appropriately enough. 

Zanza tsked softly, stepping forwards and ramming his elbow into Shulk’s skull. 

“That was very rude.” 

Shulk clutched at his head, in the midst of weighing whether or not to snap back when Zanza decided to interrupt with something horrifying. 

“In fact, I think I will have to revoke my earlier kindness.” The god said, tapping his chin in mock thought. Despite his apparent disappointment, the smile hadn’t disappeared from Zanza’s face. The sight made Shulk’s stomach roll over, spinning in revolting anxiety.

“I will permit you to bathe yourself, because I am a very loving god,” Zanza said, and Shulk resisted the urge to shout, to ask what the point of all this punishment business was if he was going to give Shulk what he wanted anyways- “but I should so hate for you to be… unmonitored.” 

His eyes scanned over Shulk, traveling over his body in a quick path. “Vulnerable.” 

No.

“You’ll- you’ll watch me?” Shulk asked, and though his voice shook with surprise, the only feeling left in his body was numbness. 

He knew that Zanza had already seen him in various states of undress, had likely watched Shulk in his every waking moment and could probably see though Shulk’s flimsy garments anyways. This still felt like a violation of privacy, though- the one place Shulk thought he could have, private and mundane, made into part of Zanza's twisted display in only a few words. 

Zanza laughed. 

“What could be the matter, Shulk?” he asked, ruffling Shulk’s hair with- not affection- possessiveness. “I more than have the right to.” 

No, Shulk wanted to say, Zanza didn’t, because Shulk wouldn’t let him, and Shulk wouldn’t allow his wishes to be overruled so easily, but instead he stayed silent. Shulk didn’t know why his lips refused to move, or why he couldn’t convince his body to go rigid and angry, but he could cry from frustration. 

“Don’t sulk.” Zanza chastised, turning away and lifting a lazy hand. “It’s only cute for so long.” 

Before Shulk could even process the words, he was somewhere else. 

Shulk’s eyes immediately clamped shut. It was only now, with the contrast of this bright room, that he was realizing how dark his enclosure had been. His shoulders shook at the overexposure, and he breathed heavily, waiting for his body to adjust. 

When Shulk finally opened his eyes again, watering only slightly, he drank in the new sights with barely contained glee. Finally! Someplace new! Relief coursed through his veins like a drug, and Shulk was grateful for the high. 

The room was ludicrously, indulgently huge, open and spacious save for the few columns scattered about, and the steps dipping down to the giant bath in the center. It was nothing like the marvelous, yet utilitarian showers of Alcamoth, but somehow more like an artificial version of the pools in Makna forest- glittering, fresh, and warm.

As Shulk ambled towards the water, his mind finally began to work again. He started to process.

He wasn’t particularly dirty- he had assumed Zanza had employed some power to keep Shulk and his clothing clean, just as how Shulk hadn’t gotten sick from his absurd eating habits. Of course, that assumption only raised more questions- the most alarming of which being why now, then, did Zanza want Shulk to bathe? 

When Shulk approached, he was startled very suddenly from a gush of water from the ceiling. It spilled into the pool below with a white spray, though interestingly, the water level of the pool didn’t change- which shouldn’t be possible, considering the conservation of mass. 

“How-“ 

Shulk didn’t allow himself to finish the question, clamping his jaw shut.

“How does it work?” Zanza finished, eyes kind- too kind. “Technology is fascinating, isn’t it? Perhaps I’ll sate your curiosity one day…” 

Shulk clenched his teeth so hard that his jaw began to ache. He wanted to know so badly, but couldn’t bear relying on Zanza. 

He decided, much as he usually did, that silence was the best policy. 

“Don’t be shy,” the prodding voice continued, despite Shulk’s scowl. He refused to look back again.

Somehow, taking the wrap off felt more like unconditional surrender than any of the rest of his actions had- kneeling, begging, being defeated the first time. Shulk tried desperately to avoid looking at the possessive marks, focusing his eyes on the white cloth slipping off of his body, where it gathered in a wrinkled lump at his feet. 

The room was far from cold, but goosebumps still rose on Shulk’s naked skin. He realized, easing himself into the pool, that his teeth were clenched hard enough to break. 

Even so, he couldn’t convince his jaw to relax. 

Shulk tried very hard to focus his attention on the warm water enveloping him. For the first time, he found himself disgusted with how well battle experience had trained his periphery. Shulk was acutely, intensely, painfully aware of Zanza’s eyes, so closely fixated on his back that he could almost feel a phantom touch between his shoulder blades. 

Shulk splashed water onto his face, clinging to the distracting sensation like a drowning man gasps for air. He couldn’t bear to think about this anymore. Him and Zanza, Zanza and him, two miserable souls trapped together for all eternity. 

He’d never thought of washing as particularly special, but it was shocking how being so deprived could make even a simple pleasure thrilling. 

Sharla had always talked about showers, after battle. It was probably a subtle hint for Reyn more than anything else, or some idle conversation, but remembering her words only made Shulk’s stomach twist.

Funny, how he could feel so unbearably lonely while wanting so desperately to be alone. Shulk longed to take this opportunity to relax, maybe inspect the faucet, or float on his back, but the thought of Zanza watching him do so shot ice-cold fear into his heart.

Instead, Shulk followed the usual motions robotically. He dunked his head underwater, and ran wet hands over his shoulders. They weren’t strong like they used to be- his whole body had sunken in, gaunt and frail from the lack of food. Shulk recognized the look, paltry concerns like food often slipped his mind when he was deep in research, but he had never been this malnourished.

His fingers caught between his ribs when he went over them with soap. Shulk was working as quickly as possible now, unable to keep his mind off of Zanza and wanting for the god to leave. The golden brands Zanza had burnt onto him were still clear on his skin, drawing Shulk’s eyes like horrific magnets. With every limb he saw, Shulk was met with the same gut-wrenching thought- Zanza, Zanza, Zanza.

This wasn’t him. It was Zanza. 

Shulk stood beneath the fount in the middle, letting the fresh stream run along his head and back. He shut his eyes, tilting his head back and running his fingers back through his hair.

“Chin up, a little more,” the voice behind him breathed.

Shulk froze. Zanza hadn’t spoken before now. 

His instinct was to disobey, which he did numbly, letting his head fall back to its normal position. Zanza sighed somewhere in the distance, sharp with disappointment, but his displeasure didn’t feel as good as it usually did.

Shulk was just tired. 

That was the only thought running through his head as he finally stepped out of the tub, dripping onto the tile. He couldn’t summon the usual attention to detail that made his life so exciting. Shulk didn’t care that he was cold, nor where he was, nor why Zanza’s eyes followed along his body, so hungry for skin they had already canvassed.

Deep down, the last traces of Shulk wanted to ask why- why he was permitted to bathe now, why Zanza had finally taken him from his room, why any of this was happening at all- but his voice died in his throat. Shulk only stared at Zanza, expectant, until the god chuckled. 

“You’re just such good entertainment,” Zanza said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 5 likes and I’ll get alvis in here to rewrite the timeline and send shulk back to the beginning to fix it all up. xenoblade 1 eternal punishment


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAY 29 BAYBEEE XENOBLADE IS BACK 
> 
> (fun fact I was actually planning on posting today regardless. who knew)

Shulk felt instantly dwarfed by the scale of the cathedral. 

The intricate, domed ceiling stood tall above his head, and staring upwards made him feel something like how he did staring at the Mechonis for the very first time. The room of carefully carved white marble was eerily silent with the sea of pews abandoned, like standing amidst a graveyard, but the air of reverence yet remained, hanging over Shulk like a heavy fog. 

Shulk remembered searching an abandoned cathedral on Valak Mountain, and finding a crumbling statue depicting a winged creature they had never seen before. He had realized belatedly, while analyzing old notes, that it and its many copies had depicted Zanza himself, but the worn, dirty structures he had notated then were nothing compared to the grandeur he was faced with now.

The tall building was intricately designed. Every piece of stone- metal gold, Shulk supposed, it was cold and smooth to the touch- had clearly been hand-carved, and assembled to an imposing finish. That seemed to be the goal, after all; displaying Zanza’s splendor to his followers, much alike how a lure floated above the heads of fish.

Zanza was everywhere the eye could see. The room was filled with huge golden statues inlaid with precious ether crystals, arranged in glorious poses as though returning victorious in conquest. Their eyes stared down at Shulk with haughty grace, and he again felt unbearably small. 

It was a good word to summarize this experience. If Shulk had a field journal with him, he might have written it down: small. 

This certainly felt like an investigation of sorts. Shulk had found himself in the hall with more than enough time to ponder why he was there, completely alone. He didn’t even have to try to know that the grandiose carved doors would not budge, or that the stained-glass windows were far too thick to peer through (or smash). There was little else to do than stare up at the tenets carved around the walls. 

That was probably Zanza’s design, Shulk thought to himself bitterly. Every law was some variation of a command to obey, uncreatively enough. If it was an attempt at subliminal messaging, it was far too clumsily blatant, and if it was intended to impress Shulk, it was a doomed venture from the start. 

Shulk tended to prefer outdoors environments to places like these. It was so much more impressive to see natural occurrences like waterfalls or ether fog, impressive and beautiful simply by chance. They weren’t molded by man’s hand, but rather existed of their own accord: existing only to exist. 

That, Shulk thought, wandering down the corridor between pews, was infinitely more impressive than this cathedral. The thought that nature could create beauty and wonder unprompted, letting him bask in it as he picked apart the underlying causes for every aspect of their universe. 

He had always been so curious about how the Bionis and Mechonis came to be. This cathedral, on the other hand, felt like yet another cage.

Shulk soon found himself headed towards the back of the structure in dim curiosity, where a few stair steps lead up to a grand altar adorned with candles and scrolls. Above it he could glimpse an intricately crafted mosaic of a familiar divine man in gold and white. The scene portrayed was adoring and reverent: Zanza stood, flanked by kneeling worshippers, wearing what was likely intended to be a gracious smile, but looked more to Shulk like his usual self-congratulatory smirk. 

Shivering, Shulk ran a hand over his arm in a vague attempt at comfort. Everywhere. Zanza was everywhere, from Shulk’s surroundings to his own body. 

Shulk winced at the memory. He’d been so near to the mercy of forgetting, if only for a few moments. His skin had been covered again by his clothing when he had appeared here, thankfully, but Shulk could still feel the god’s presence, like a caterpillar crawling up his spine. 

And, as he came ever closer, Shulk realized just how accurate his sense was.

He didn’t know how long Zanza had been seated on the altar, eyes cast upwards to his own mosaic doppelganger, but he seemed aware of Shulk approaching from behind, head bobbing slightly. 

“Knees, Shulk.” The god chided, breaking the reverent silence with blasé glee. “You’re in a holy place.” 

This curious outing would probably be over more quickly if Shulk cooperated, but Shulk was far too perplexed to know if that was his goal. His usual dim, cramped room was certainly undesirable in comparison to this, but Zanza’s odd behavior earlier had only set Shulk on edge. 

Though in general, Shulk hardly knew what he wanted. He felt so tired, so empty, that he didn’t know if it mattered where he was. 

“Why did you bring me here?” Shulk asked dully. He supposed information could always be helpful. 

Zanza tilted his chin to the side, visible in profile just over his shoulder. 

“Perhaps a more obedient vessel would receive answers.” 

Faced with no other choice, Shulk decided to cooperate. His knees fell hard against the carved stone, and he looked up to Zanza expectantly. The god seemed altogether too pleased for the concession, stepping lightly onto his feet and towards Shulk. 

“I do so love you on your knees.” Zanza purred. “You belong there, perfect and ready to serve.”

“…what do you want me to do?” 

Zanza’s back came to face Shulk as the god surveyed his own church once more. He folded his arms behind himself, at unbreakable ease, and Shulk was suddenly overcome with weariness. He couldn’t remember why he asked questions, why he wanted so badly to gather knowledge and fight back. 

“How wonderous, that this place is founded upon the ashes of the Bionis…” Zanza mused, tracing his fingers along the cloth adorning the altar. “Often, beautiful things emerge from death and disaster.” 

His gaze shifted to Shulk from beneath his bangs, and Shulk stared back, eyes wide.

“Like a little vessel, the sole survivor of a cataclysmic massacre.” He said. 

Although it wasn’t cold, Shulk shivered.

That was Zanza’s doing, Shulk reminded himself unsteadily. Zanza had massacred Shulk’s family, and stolen Shulk’s free will and destiny. 

He couldn’t act now as though he was uninvolved. 

“I’ve thought a long time about what to do with you,” Zanza mused. The light streaming in through the mosaics was low, now. It adorned him like molten gold, dripping lazily down his shoulders and streaming into his hair. 

Something deep within Shulk bristled- it wasn’t fair to be referred to like an object- but he found himself thoughtful more than anything else. What had Zanza decided? Was his time in that awful, barren room just a placeholder? A test, of some sort?

“You are still… rude. Arrogant.” Zanza’s shadow casted nearly long enough to reach Shulk, a deep black like nothing else in their surroundings of splendor. “It frustrates me, Shulk, to see you consider yourself my equal. These delusions of grandeur are unhealthy.”

Shulk’s head swam. It was so warm, with the sunlight enveloping the two of them. 

Zanza turned, features just nearly visible through the glow. “I have worked tirelessly towards your reform… and I will admit that you have obeyed sufficiently, at long last. Your violent nature has somewhat subsided.”

“Violent…” Shulk heard himself say. His head shook. “No. I wanted only for peace.” 

That had been his goal, right? Ending the conflict between the Bionis and Mechonis. There was no reason to keep on fighting. 

“Conducting war for peace…” Zanza laughed, more melodious than mocking. “A delightful contradiction, Shulk. But you need only look back at your actions: leading the war against the Mechon, nearly killing Meyneth’s girl in your anger… you fancy yourself an intellectual. Given the data, you should easily come to the same conclusion as I: that your nature leads you to animalistic bouts of aggression.” 

Images flashed through Shulk’s mind. Threats shouted at Metal Face and the mechon, at Egil, who was merely trying to stop Zanza. The spark of anger and vengeance that had burrowed within him and festered for so long after Fiora’s supposed death, as though he was already dead, rotting from the inside out.

The emptiness he felt now that she was actually dead.

“But now,” Zanza turned to face Shulk once more, edges set aglow by the light at his back. “you kneel before me, tamer than ever.” 

His skin looked almost red, flush through the radiance just behind. 

He hurt to look at.

“I do possess love for my creations.” Zanza finished. “This is why I wish to initiate you, Shulk.” 

Shulk’s head throbbed, too weak and weary to process the brightness and words. He sank back onto his heels, perched on the edge of horror but unable to truly feel it.

“Initiate…” he repeated, half-mumbled.

The light subsided, now blocked by a blurred Zanza. Pride curved his lips, which made fear gnaw just at the edges of Shulk’s dizzy mind. He felt unbearably small again, now that the god towered above him, powerful enough to blot out the sun itself.

“You could live in bliss,” he began, voice echoing and surrounding Shulk from all sides. Shulk struggled not to lose himself in the reverberations, holding steady with his hands on his knees. “Wanting for nothing, thinking of not the slightest anxiety…” 

His fingers knotted into Shulk’s hair, tugging lightly on the bangs around his left ear. Shulk couldn’t summon the energy to fight. His head drooped to the side like a marionette, eyes widening at the tinge of pain. 

“Not a single thought in your pretty head.” 

Shulk bristled at that. He actually liked to work, to figure things out and solve problems. It was fun to him, conducting research, gathering data and drawing a neat conclusion from the results. Understanding how everything worked brought the world into clearer focus, giving purpose to the seemingly inane. 

But… but. Being taken care of sounded enticing. Shulk couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t been jealous of Fiora and Reyn, living with parental figures who loved and watched over them. He always felt so unbearably lonely, with no family to call his own.

Was this maybe close enough? 

“I have a proposition for you.” Zanza’s other hand drifted towards Shulk’s face, only just ghosting over his skin. 

“I don’t think you worthy of discipleship yet. You have much to prove to me in dedication. However, you could arrive there more quickly if you cooperated with me now… or perhaps even surpass it entirely.” 

“I-“

“Don’t be so eager. I will explain.” The grip in Shulk’s hair tightened slightly. “Or perhaps I prefer you desperate…”

Shulk became as silent as he possibly could, praying for Zanza to finish his piece. 

“I would require a demonstration.” Zanza finally explained, as his eyes traced around Shulk’s face. “Nothing taxing. You would only have to… let go. Of your concerns, your memories, your thoughts.” 

His voice hushed to a mere breath, hot on Shulk’s ear. 

“Give yourself to me completely.”

The light, liquid gold splayed around the church, now having been dusted slightly with a pinkish hue. The colors swirled around them in a joyous dance, casting saturation onto the intricate columns and altars. 

Beautiful. Too beautiful. 

Shulk’s heart hurt as much as his head. 

“You could be happy… not a care in the world beyond what lies in my bed,” Something hung on the edge of Zanza’s lilt, something new and dangerous.

Shulk’s thoughts were sluggish. “Why would I be in your bed?”

Zanza quirked an eyebrow. 

“Mm.” His eyes gleamed. “I didn’t take you for the adventurous type. If you insist, I could have you right here.”

Shulk’s stomach somersaulted at the delight apparent on Zanza’s face, but he couldn’t bring his muscles to move. Zanza’s fingers pressed on the gap between Shulk’s lips, pushing inside of his mouth.

“I promise to be as gentle as I can,” he whispered as Shulk gagged slightly, “but I still have to break you in.”

His hand had shifted to the back of Shulk’s skull, where it suddenly yanked on his hair as the other tilted his chin up, and just as Shulk gasped in pain, hot lips pressed against his.

The kiss was short, but hardly lacking in need. Zanza pushed with enough force for Shulk to lose his breath, stunned into silence when Zanza finally drew away, leaving only a horrid taste in Shulk’s mouth that no amount of hacking and spitting could erase.

“You’re good, like this.” Zanza murmured, breath hot on Shulk’s skin. “Dazed. Docile.” 

It all slotted into place then, like the last piece in the world’s most revolting puzzle. Shulk summoned every curse word he could think of- which was admittedly far less than Fiora could- and could only watch in horror as Zanza’s hands slid down to cup his neck.

“One word,” Zanza commanded, light and airy as he pressed his mouth into the crook of Shulk’s neck. “Accept me, beg for me, and it can all be over.” 

Him. Zanza wanted him. Not as a servant, or a follower, but in a more carnal way. 

As a lover.

Strength flowed back through Shulk, a surge of adrenaline rushing through his veins. He shoved Zanza back with the full force of his body, lungs constricted in a crushing grip.

With the momentum of his push, Shulk crashed forwards onto the palms of his hands, ducking his head towards the shimmering tile as he panted for breath. His fingers twitched for purchase but he found no ground on which to support himself, no respite from the whirl of confusion sweeping through his mind.

Removing his clothing. Pulling at his hair. It was all part of Zanza’s design, the desire that he held for. For.

Shulk.

Rage filled every corner of Shulk’s mind. It sparked in his stomach like a roaring inferno, a memory he couldn’t believe he’d forgotten. He’d been so complacent, all this time. 

“Shulk.” There was a warning in Zanza’s tone. “You need only say yes, to be absolved.”

There was no answer save raw gasps of breath.

Shulk could hear the force of Zanza’s clenched teeth in his clipped, short words. 

“I offer you privilege beyond your wildest dreams. You have the opportunity to be consort to a god. I suggest you take it.” 

“Never.” Shulk’s voice shook with unbridled anger. He wrenched his head up from the floor.

“DID YOU HEAR ME? NEVER.” 

Zanza’s eyes narrowed. His lips turned down into a sneer, but Shulk was beyond caring what he thought. 

“How DARE you,” Zanza spat. He shot his foot out into Shulk’s ribs in a pointed, forcefull kick. “Worthless, insolent trash!”

Shulk’s muscles twitched and faltered from disuse, and his body was drained from fatigue, but it wasn’t enough to stop him from pulling himself up. 

“You will regret refusing me,” Zanza snarled. “I can promise you that.” 

Shulk drew up to his full height, eyes dark with anger, and made a vow of his own.

“I’ll keep saying it,” he growled, “I’ll tell you no until my voice gives out-“ 

“You should be honored I even bother looking at you.” Disdain dripped from Zanza’s voice. “You should be BEGGING for my attention! You arrogant, haughty-” 

“You can’t have me.” Shulk balled his fists. His fingers cramped in protest as he squeezed. “I refuse to grovel any longer.”

“That’s ENOUGH-“

“I will fight you until the day I die!” 

Shulk only barely had enough time to watch Zanza’s features mangle into twitching wrath, distorted and horrific, before his surroundings melted into black. 

“So be it, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so like. if you think about it xenoblade is just the quest for prince zanza's daedric artifact the monado right. is that just me


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> definitive pls fix my update schedule

“We’re still in space.” 

The voice just behind Shulk was teasing, yet fond. He shook from his reverie, but found quickly that he couldn’t move. 

“I’m aware.” Shulk’s body said suddenly.

That was when Shulk came to the realization that the body he was residing in was not his own- slightly taller, and far more lean, with hair just long enough to dust his shoulders. He didn’t know how long he had been standing here, staring at the planet hung in the stars before him, but try as he might, he couldn’t persuade his muscles to respond.

If it were up to Shulk, his hands would be pressed against the window, nose bumping against solid glass in a desperate attempt to see more. He’d only been to space once- just before his duel with Zanza, as a gnawing guilt in his stomach reminded him- but had been far too preoccupied and, admittedly, terrified to appreciate the sights.

Shulk remembered the occasional glee of distraction, when his gaze would wander and he could nearly justify reaching for his notebook for a quick sketch. He took mental note of each star and asteroid he could manage, from the clusters of icy moons around the largest planet to the odd rings stretching around its neighbor. However, thinking of it now (which was difficult with how floaty Shulk felt, even his own name felt fuzzy and difficult to grasp), he had never seen this particular planet, a brilliant blue and green. 

Before he could spare even a thought to his seemingly possessed faculties, the woman- now standing beside him, only a head shorter- interrupted with a soft laugh. 

“You seem quite serious, for a man on his break.” 

Her voice tugged at Shulk the same way a forgotten childhood book might, vaguely familiar in a way he couldn’t quite place. The words failed to comfort his body, however, which merely scoffed. 

“And you, remiss for a woman studying aboard the greatest endeavor of our generation.” Shulk heard himself say.

It seemed unnecessarily harsh to him, to say to someone who was simply concerned about his wellbeing, but the woman was unfazed. She simply turned her gaze from him to the window, voice softening in reverent admiration.

“It is quite a sight. To think, we were specks down there only weeks ago…”

Shulk crossed his arms, leaning onto his back heel. “I pity them.” 

His voice sounded unbearably tight to his ears.

“Down there, they can’t possibly see how insignificant they are.” Shulk’s body said. “They can’t even fathom of the work we are doing.” 

The woman tilted her head. Her silver hair cascaded over her face and down her shoulder, leaving just a hint of the inquisitive eyes beneath.

“They have lives all their own. Lives you cannot fathom, either.” 

“I find that difficult to believe.” Shulk ground out through grit teeth.

The woman fell quiet, letting the silence build between them. There was something precarious to it, like a glass positioned on the very edge of a table.

Shulk brushed back his bangs, sighing.

“It was pity, anyhow. Not malice. I don’t hate the ignorant.” 

Despite his lack of choice in the matter, the words nevertheless made him angry to say. Shulk always hated when people treated him differently as wielder of the monado, as though his powers elevated him above others. As far as he was concerned, nothing could do that. Anyone deserved the same ability to choose their fates- he was simply lucky enough to have it. 

“Perhaps it is you who is ignorant, Klaus.” The woman withdrew, eyes steely, and Shulk could feel the foreign confidence in his chest falter slightly. 

“An academic as accredited as yourself should know there is yet more to learn.” 

Shulk fought to turn around, apology ready on his tongue, but he was fading too fast. His surroundings flashed and flickered. The woman’s voice hadn’t even waned from his ears when he found himself shocked into another reality entirely. 

Shulk blinked, dazed, as the ground below came into focus. 

Dark stones paved the floor at his feet, rough and jagged against his soles. His neck was tinging in pain from the weight of his lolling head, and he fought for the strength to hold it up. 

Shulk realized belatedly, with a few gasps of air for his lungs, that his arms had been painfully wrenched behind his back. He was supported only by the vicelike grip on his upper arms, as his feet stumbled for purchase on the pointy shards of flooring. 

“Look at me.” 

Shulk instinctively scowled at Zanza’s voice. He ducked his head lower, only to cry out in pain as his hair was roughly yanked back, tilting his face up.

“Hello, Shulk.” 

Zanza’s gaze was piercing from where he stood tall, chin raised in lofty might. It reminded Shulk of watching Rhoguls circling above their prey, just before they struck.

“What do you want,” Shulk croaked, voice still thick with sleep. The laugh that followed was more of a bark, raw and bitter.

“Do you expect me to ask nicely? Beg for you?” Zanza’s lips curled into a sneer. “I’m done asking, Shulk.” 

Panic shot through Shulk’s heart as he remembered the day before. It flashed through his memory like knives to his chest- Zanza’s hands at his face, his proposition, the kiss. 

His eyes widened. “Wait-“ 

“I’m not amused any longer.” Zanza spat. “The novelty of disobedience only lasts so long. The gall you have, to reject me, after all I’ve done for you…!” 

“I meant it.” Shulk choked out in protest. “You have no right to me-” 

Zanza’s eyes narrowed. He stepped forwards, brisk, and caught Shulk’s jaw in a bruising grip. 

“I didn’t permit you to speak.” he said, cold. “One can only marvel at the sheer foolishness of aggravating a god, but you’re no stranger to biting the hand that feeds, are you?”

“All your hand has done is suffocate,” Shulk shot back when a heavy pressure fell onto his shoulders, forcing him to his knees. 

Zanza’s tongue clicked.

“I warned you.” 

Shulk stared up at Zanza, as steely as he could muster. Their eyes locked for a few eons trapped in seconds, unblinking eternities of Shulk’s chest rising in tapered breath and Zanza’s jaw twitching until he finally broke the silence. 

“I intend,” Zanza snarled, “to make you regret every moment of your pitiful existence. I’ll enjoy every miserable second of your pain. You will squirm under my heel until you’ve learned your place, useless wretch!”

“And when you lay but an inch from death…” Shulk fell into pained silence as Zanza’s index finger traced a line down the side of his neck.

“You will wish ardently that you had not refused me.”

“I have been dead.” Shulk snapped, throwing his shoulders in a desperate attempt to escape the vice-like grip on his arms. “It didn’t weaken my resolve. Nothing could! What more could you possibly be planning? You’ve taken EVERYTHING from me, and I’m still fighting!” 

Shulk knew, just after the rush of adrenaline washed over him, that challenging Zanza had been a bad idea. His stomach sunk as Zanza’s grin widened, pointy and insincere.

“We’ll have fun then, you and I.” Zanza chuckled, too loud and too bright, stepping back with his arms spread. 

Shulk’s head fell as the laughter filled his ears. He fought to steady his breaths as Zanza’s footsteps fell closer again, and fingers raked through his hair.

“You can always reconsider my offer. If you beg well enough, I might consider showing some mercy.” Zanza’s voice was quiet once more- and also much too close, his breath fell hot and sticky onto Shulk’s ear. 

“I don’t want it.” Shulk snarled. He refused to meet Zanza’s eyes. 

“Then I’ll teach you a lesson. I know what is mine, Shulk, and it’s time you learn as well.” Zanza turned slowly, languid in his grandeur.

“Today will certainly be… entertaining.”

A single hand waved from his side. 

“Drop him.” 

Shulk hadn’t realized how deeply he had been leaning into the guards’ grip until he crashed onto the floor. Jagged rock edges dug into the flesh of every part of his body he could still feel, and the impact had been enough for dull pain to bloom in his ribcage. 

Wincing at the soreness in his shoulders, Shulk pulled his weight onto his elbow. As he looked up, eyes hazy with tears of pain, he now recognized the two guards with Zanza as the same pair who had accompanied the god last time. 

Shulk’s head spun with questions- Who were they? What were they? Why were they serving Zanza?- but when he cried out, he asked none of them. 

“You don’t have to listen to him!” Shulk pleaded instead.

Although he couldn’t even see their faces, and they certainly weren’t homs, Shulk felt a strange sense of kinship with the beings. In a life of servitude to Zanza, they were just as trapped as he was.

“Oh please.” Zanza scoffed. “Do you really think I would make the mistake of conferring intelligence twice?” 

Shulk shivered. He felt unbearably vulnerable, knowing for certain that Zanza was capable of such a level of control. 

“Don’t fret.” Zanza said, eyebrows knit in a perfect parody of concern. “I desire more… satisfaction from you. You, Shulk, will submit to me of your own accord.” 

“Never!” Was all Shulk had time to choke out before Zanza disappeared, like sand slipping through his outstretched fingers. 

Dizzying amounts of questions swirled in his mind as his hand thudded back to the floor. Why had Zanza created life again, if he was only going to suppress it? Were the new life forms homs, or high entia, or something new entirely? What was society like, outside of Shulk’s confinement? Was it like the technological haven of the high entia, or the bartering village of the nopon? What type of world had Zanza wrought, from the ashes of Shulk’s home? 

Shulk gnashed his teeth. He had too many questions to remain unanswered!

Gingerly feeling around the particularly sharp pieces of floor, Shulk was able to pull himself to his feet, albeit slowly. Questions were one thing, but in a new environment like this, the most important course of action was documenting his surroundings. 

Shulk highly doubted that Zanza had been clumsy enough to leave any useful items within his reach, but at the very least, a search of this new room could give him context for any future encounters. He was willing to take any information at all in these desperate times. 

Just from a glance around, this new room more accurately resembled a typical prison, complete with cell bars, a jagged stone floor, and near imperceptible darkness. Shulk could feel out most of the notable features, such as the four uneven walls of hewn rocks- each quite solid, standing through a few attempts at kicks and one badly conceived throw of his now deeply aching shoulder- but nothing distinct nor helpful. 

This room was, in summary, more frustrating than the last. It was smaller, just a few paces in each direction before Shulk bumped into the opposing wall, and the floor was too uncomfortable to sit or lie on for extended amounts of time. Shulk decided to stand for the time being, though it was an unsustainable practice. 

He wasn’t looking forward to figuring out what to do when the fatigue slowly building in his legs became too much. 

Interestingly, however, his prison wasn’t silent any longer. In the other room Shulk was crushingly isolated, living in complete deafening silence until Zanza chose to grace him with his inane ramblings. Here, however, if Shulk concentrated, he could hear a faint buzzing in the distance. He couldn’t think what such a noise might mean- it was different than the vibrational hum of the monado, or the whirring of machina machinery- but it was certainly something to keep in the back of his mind. 

Surveying the room turned out to be only a paltry distraction. Shulk couldn’t keep his mind from returning to the events of the day prior- to Zanza’s bizarre proposition, and the revolting taste of his lips on Shulk’s. 

Just the memory was enough to make Shulk’s blood boil. What had Zanza been thinking?! It was wrong, it was demeaning and frustrating, and it made Shulk nauseous, knowing that he couldn’t do anything about it.

Shulk felt like an idiot for not realizing Zanza’s goals sooner. He had been telling the truth all along. He wanted Shulk. 

And that could never happen. 

The problem with this newfound rebellion, however, was not knowing where to start. Shulk had already exhausted most every idea he could come up with, to no avail. The burst of disgust-fueled motivation didn’t last very long under the harsh stare of helplessness, melting whatever will he once had to fight like cheap plastic on a boiling summer day.

Much as he tried not to, Shulk found his thoughts lingering on Zanza’s promises of punishment. It had been some time since the angered god had left- maybe an hour, by Shulk’s calculations- and it was completely quiet on Shulk’s end.

Well. Shulk tilted his head to the side. Not quiet, exactly. The sound from earlier was more of a ringing noise now, and so clear that Shulk wasn’t sure how he had missed it before. 

How odd. 

Shulk let his head rest back against the wall, falling deep into thought once more. 

Was this it? Was the fear and anticipation of retribution meant to be the punishment itself? Shulk could certainly see Zanza favoring an approach so sneaky, letting Shulk work himself into a froth of anxiety without lifting a finger, yet it didn’t feel right. Surely Zanza wouldn’t move Shulk into a new prison without reason. Unless it was meant to unsettle him further…? 

Shulk blinked. His eyes must have adjusted to the darkness, because all of a sudden, the room he was in was completely visible. He could make out each boulder comprising the walls and flooring now, and for the first time he noticed the dark ceiling only half his arm’s length from his head. 

Shulk shivered at the jolt of claustrophobia that followed. While he wasn’t normally afraid of enclosed spaces- caterpillars were much, much scarier- the thought of being confined like this for prolonged periods of time was unsettling. 

Shulk’s heart thumped loudly in his chest, and he stumbled to his feet in search of something to do. A quick scan around him newly revealed the grooves of space in between the stones of the walls. Shulk crossed over and began to scratch at the gaps in an attempt to dig them out, refueled by the jolt of fear. He had to keep trying to escape, no matter how impossible it seemed. 

Shulk grit his teeth. The alternative was handing himself over to Zanza. 

Clawing at the walls proved just as unsuccessful as every other attempt, however, when Shulk finally drew back with bloodied fingertips and an exasperatingly unmoved wall. Whatever that sound was, it was now ringing in his ears in the most unpleasant way, and his head was beginning to ache. 

Resting seemed wrong while facing such horrifying consequences, but Shulk was faced with little other choice. His head and hands tinged in pain too severe to keep on going, considering that his body was just about the only thing he had left.

Though it seemed that Zanza wanted even that.

In his moment of repose, Shulk found himself wondering again about the guards. There was something familiar about them- something about their presence that he knew intensely well, though even after racking his brain he couldn’t say what. He hadn’t heard them speak, or really seen the way they moved, and while their armor resembled high entia designs, it was still alien, and definitely not what Shulk had recognized. 

Maybe it had been too dark to see accurately. The cell Shulk was currently inhabiting was more shadow than stone- no.

No, that wasn’t right. 

But Shulk distinctly remembered the room being dim. 

Shulk pulled himself to his feet, frowning. Earlier he had only been able to see by the faintest of light, but now, it was bright as an early morning on the Bionis Leg. Shulk could even make out the cell bars he had grazed against earlier, no longer swallowed by the gaping maw of shade just outside of his cell. 

His heart stuttered at the sight. Was there a hallway? An outside world? 

Shulk scrambled over and ran his hands down the bars. Solid. They were spaced too closely to fit more than his arm through, but that was hardly a deterrent. He jammed one through with what he realized belatedly was a complete lack of concern for his now scabbing fingers. 

Shulk didn’t know whether to be disappointed at the mere cold air he found, or relieved that some trap hadn’t bitten his hand off.

The bars didn’t budge when shaken, and nothing but a hollow void was visible when Shulk pressed his face against them and peered into the darkness. A strange sensation overcame him as he did so, however, almost nostalgic in nature. He felt strongly that he had done something like this recently, some memory, but what- 

His dream. 

Shulk drew back, shaken at the sudden memory. It must have been a dream, though what hazy recollections Shulk did have were quickly fading from his mind. He had been talking to a woman, and it was… dark. She had called him someone else’s name- it was on the tip of Shulk’s tongue now, though he had never heard it before. Her voice had been familiar, however, melodious and high but buried somewhere deep within his memory. 

It was tempting to dismiss the vestiges of guilt weighing on his stomach, resigning it all to a mere dream, but Shulk knew that it couldn’t be so simple. His dreams had been premonitions for some time, and this one in particular was distinct from the slew of nightmares he usually had, replaying the deaths of his friends. It was impossible to eliminate the possibility that this dream may be Zanza’s doing, of course, but even if it was, that was only more reason for Shulk to analyze his dreams closely. Any clues to Zanza’s plans and motives were information, and hence tools for- for survival. 

Shulk shook his head. The noise had become far louder- now more like a roar of an enraged Sauros- and too loud to ignore. He was certain now that it wasn’t his imagination. The room was becoming incrementally brighter as well. 

Why? What motive could Zanza have in changing Shulk’s environment like this? Was it a disorienting effect? 

If that was the purpose, it was certainly working. Shulk threw out a hand to brace himself against the wall as his head throbbed painfully, vision swimming in and out of focus. The pitch was increasing along with the volume, shrill and piercing like an alarm. 

Shulk pushed his fingers into his ears, a tactic that only worked for a blessed moment of muffled quiet before the sound increased yet again. He bit back a scream as the light began to sear his eyes, as though a miniature sun had been placed right before his nose. 

Shulk slammed his eyes shut. He couldn’t- he couldn’t think. Sentences splayed and scattered around his mind like a flock of birds set to flight. 

The pitch rang in his ears, echoing around in his skull and knocking- he could see the light, even through his eyelids, and it hurt-

Frustration rose hot in his chest. The only thing holding back his screams was the fear of making even more noise.

A moment of silence was all he needed- the opportunity to collect his thoughts- to come to some sort of conclusion-

The woman’s voice. The build of the guards. Shulk knew them, somehow, he just had to remember, but it was all slipping from his grasp. The pitch had drilled into his head and left his thoughts leaking out, and the most he could do was clutch at his head and stagger into a wall. 

Just a moment. All he needed was a moment more before his eyes were overtaken by glare. All Shulk could think was the word stop, over and over, but he refused to say it aloud- or he was shaking too hard to do so, he didn’t know which and couldn’t think-

In the last moments of lucidity, before everything fractured at last, Shulk finally realized Zanza’s plan.

His mind. All along, Zanza had wanted to take his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is just edgy beauty and the beast and it would already be over if zanza gave the boy a damn library smfh


	8. Chapter 8

“Klaus, what do you enjoy outside of work?”

The question was innocent, but Shulk still felt Klaus’ face curl into a scowl as his gaze shifted away from the window and towards the woman seated across from him. 

“A foolish question.” He responded haughtily. “If you don’t enjoy the work you do, you render your efforts meaningless.” 

Klaus seemed as deeply unpleasant as ever, much to Shulk’s disappointment, though the silver-haired woman was unfazed. Her continuous efforts to connect with her coworker were only debatably successful, but her tenacity was certainly something Shulk could admire. 

He would’ve given up a long time ago. 

“I don’t doubt your passion for this project, nor my own,” she said, drumming her fingers on the table between them. “But even you rest, Klaus.” 

“I may not necessarily enjoy it,” Shulk argued hotly, but the woman only snickered at the implication. Shulk braced himself, expecting Klaus to anger further at the slight, or perhaps even lash out in defense, but he didn’t seem troubled at the sound.

If anything, Klaus seemed to enjoy it.

“Maybe you should try something new.” She said, inching forwards with a scrape of her chair against the floor. “Hmm… Do you enjoy listening to music?” 

Klaus pursed his lips, chin rising slightly. “I’ve always appreciated Mozart’s repertoire, or perhaps Beethoven.” 

Shulk didn’t recognize the names Klaus quoted, but the woman’s grey eyebrow arched in response. Their stares met with equal intensity, as Klaus began to weigh the merits of confessing the truth.

“…I don’t listen to music often,” Klaus admitted, eyes flicking away. 

“I could play you something.” The woman offered, a smile tugging her lips upwards. 

Klaus snorted and turned his chin away, though the woman paid him no heed. Her hands busied in a large lab pocket as he spoke. 

“Absolutely not. What a waste of our valuable time-”

She held up a small rectangle- some sort of electronic device- and Shulk’s mind raced with an enthusiasm that Klaus did not share. Instead, Klaus chewed on the inner part of his lip, contemplating whether or not to push back.

“…I’m assuming this will be worth my while.” He finally said.

“This one is a favorite of mine,” the woman said, clicking a small button on the side. Klaus ignored Shulk’s endless torrent of questions, if he was even aware of them, only leaning across the table to be closer to the music player.

As soon as her thumb hit the screen, unexpectedly loud music spiked into their ears, catching Klaus and Shulk both off guard. Klaus recognized the music as rock, forming a melody from electric guitars he labelled “aggressive” and a drumbeat full of infectious energy that Shulk enjoyed. 

“It’s…” Klaus swallowed. “Loud.” 

The woman snorted into her hand. 

“But good?”

Klaus’ eyes bored into hers, and his frown remained high on his perched lips. Try as he might, however, he could not hide the fondness bubbling up in his chest.

“…yes, alright.” He admitted, voice fading at the end just as it all swirled away. 

Shulk blinked himself awake again.

His eyes spilled over with tears as they were flooded with light yet again and Shulk threw his elbow over his face, grunting in pain. Exhaustion sat heavy just behind his eyelids, much as it always did these days, and his entire arm ached from the paltry effort of movement alone.

Neither the shrieking noise nor the glaring light had abated since they had first appeared. It was impossible to sleep, and nowadays, the only rest Shulk got was a few tormented minutes of unconsciousness each time he passed out. 

Medical sciences weren’t Shulk’s area of expertise, but he was certain that he would be blind, deaf, or perhaps even dead by now if not for Zanza’s divine meddling. Instead, he was blessed with eternal suffering by overexposure.

Zanza likely expected gratitude for it.

Shulk had stopped pacing a couple of blackouts ago, and his brain was too overloaded to attempt counting or any other method of calming down. After the latest few, he found himself unable to summon even the effort of standing up- his legs were unsteady, and his hands shook too violently to be of any use. 

He could only lie in agony, wishing desperately for the next time he could faint. 

As comparatively peaceful as unconsciousness seemed, however, sleep brought its own problems. Shulk’s blackouts were too light to be restful, and served more to cloud his mind than anything else. The dreams- or visions, Shulk hadn’t been able to decide- of the woman in space were becoming more prevalent with each passing day. If there had been any doubt that these dreams were special in some way, it was gone now. They were too frequent, too detailed, too odd to be mere coincidence. 

Shulk had experienced enough of them to remember the man’s name now, Klaus, though he still didn’t know much about the woman. Klaus never called her by name- which seemed typical of him to Shulk, who was growing to dislike him intensely. Klaus was pompous and self-centered, gratingly irritating and willfully inconsiderate. The disappointment Shulk felt at his actions might have been more intense had Shulk the energy to properly think about it, but being awake in this state was nothing more than a bout of perpetual pain. 

It was difficult to concentrate on anything other than the torment, wishing over and over again for it to just stop.

Shulk’s brain thumped against his skull. If only he could have enough time to think. He didn’t even need a plan, just enough time to process-

Shulk cried out in frustration. In earlier days he might have struck a wall, but his limbs felt as though they were bolted to the floor. He wished he could feel anything else, think anything else, but he was only consumed by the burn of sound and light.

“Zanza!” he snarled aloud, voice raw from disuse. 

Shulk took a breath, prepared to begin another rant or threat, but found himself unable to control the quiet word which slipped out next.

“Please.” Shulk whispered.

Before he could regret the moment of weakness, the noise dissipated. 

Shulk’s ears rang. He hadn’t realized how heavily he was panting. 

Gingerly, Shulk moved his arm from over his eyes. He found that the light was dimmer, too, though looking around was still painful. Shulk’s vision blurred double, and he had to fight to reopen his eyes after each blink. 

This had to be an effort to dull his senses, yet another attempt to make him feel powerless. Shulk grit his teeth, attempting to steel himself. He had to clung onto the one last advantage he did have- his staunch refusal to give in to the god’s demands.

Shulk sat up, one hand holding his head, and the other bracing himself against the floor. As his mind became clearer, he strained to remember the puzzles that had consumed him before: his recurring dreams, the familiar guards, any possibility for escape. His first concern was attempting to make sense out of any of it. There had to be some connection between them all, some clue left for him to decipher. 

Shulk had built his life’s work, his passion, on understanding the world. He could do it now. He had to.

It was his only hope of survival.

The sudden clang of metal on metal punctured the euphoric silence. Shulk’s chin jerked up, and mentally, he begged for Zanza to stay far away. 

His visitor wasn’t Zanza, mercifully, but actually far more useful. At the sight of the guard approaching, memories of Shulk’s investigative work flooded through his mind- he remembered now, the questions and thoughts on his one real lead. 

Before the weariness could overcome him, Shulk pulled himself closer to the cell bars. His muscles ached, and his forearms shook from the effort of holding himself up, but now he was close enough to see. 

The guard did his best to act unfazed by the sudden movement, pushing a plate of food towards Shulk. Though his growling stomach protested in favor of it- he didn’t know if he would get any leads, but he could eat right now- Shulk ignored it easily. There were far more important matters at hand. 

“Wait!” Shulk rasped, before the man could leave. “Wait. Who are-“ 

It was in that moment, when the guard’s eyes came into view, pausing on Shulk’s, that the realization hit Shulk with the force of a gunshot to the chest.

“Reyn,” he said, purely by instinct. 

It should be impossible. Shulk would recognize those eyes anywhere, however, and the kind look behind them was not easily manufactured. 

“But you’re-“ 

Emotion stuck in Shulk’s throat, and the words stopped. He blinked rapidly to offset both the tears and dizziness, choking out a cry when the lookalike shifted.

Shulk threw himself at the cell bars. “No! Don’t go!” 

He couldn’t be alone again. 

“Wait. Reyn. We can work together,” Shulk explained, knuckles white around the bars. “We outnumber him, it’s still possible.” 

The guard’s mouth remained still, but Shulk could hear Reyn’s response perfectly clear. 

Are you sure bout that, Shulk? He’d ask, scratching his head in thought. We didn’t do so hot last time. 

“I know,” Shulk said. “I know. It’s never been this bad, but we can’t give up.” 

The man’s heel sounded loud against the stone as he stepped back, and Shulk thrust his arm through the gap in desperation.

“Wait!” He shouted. “You can’t leave!” 

Another step.

“We almost did it, Reyn.” Shulk pleaded. “We were so close. We can win this time, we don’t- we don’t have a choice.” 

Metal rang out somewhere, loud enough for Shulk to pull back and wince. When he pried his eyes open again, the man had nearly left the room. 

“Please, just listen to me!” Shulk screamed, but the dark corridor continued to consume what little of Reyn he could still see. 

A soft buzzing noise began to play somewhere in the distance.

“Please…” 

Shulk’s fingers stung from the effort of reaching. He allowed his voice to trail off as he sat back, dazed. 

His head was getting warm again. 

Reyn was here. That was Reyn- Shulk’s best friend, his confidant, the same one who Shulk had seen torn apart by Zanza’s minions, alive and breathing in this new world. 

How could that be possible? Shulk’s vision swam. Had Zanza resurrected him as he had Shulk, or was it simply a copy? 

Anxiety formed a vice around his ribcage as the noise began to grow louder. Shulk had to think faster. He only had a small amount of time before it consumed his thoughts again-

Why had they met like this? Reyn had worked in the defense force, but never as a guard. And furthermore, why would Reyn ever cooperate with Zanza? It wasn’t like him to hurt Shulk, and especially not to allow Zanza his way. What could Zanza possibly gain from this? 

Shulk slumped against a wall. His heart was drumming against his chest furiously, though it didn’t help his sluggish thoughts. He knew that there had to be some connection that explained it all, but his mind stubbornly fixated on only one unimportant thought.

Seeing Reyn again had reminded him how alone he was. 

Though Shulk would have been slower to admit it when he was younger, he relied on his friends. They cared for him, laughed with him, and helped him see things he had missed. Reyn had always been able to read Shulk’s emotions better than he himself could. 

Shulk found himself wishing for the company of his teammates now more than ever, trapped alone in the void of Zanza’s prison. He hugged his knees to his chest, resting his head atop them. 

Shulk’s blinks became languid and heavy, and for a moment, Shulk allowed his mind to wander. He tried to imagine what his friends would say to him, as he did in those early days, but the memories were harder to conjure up now. Shulk found it difficult to recall the size of Melia’s wings, or the precise color of Riki’s fur, mind fogged with exhaustion. 

Although the ringing noise only grew in volume, Shulk could still hear footsteps approaching. Ordinarily he might feel apprehensive, but he could sense the presence beside him even with his eyes closed, warm and comforting and real. 

“Reyn,” Shulk whispered.

It was almost enough to forget the shrill sounds filling his ears. 

His friend’s broad shoulders drooped in sympathy. “What happened to ya, Shulk?” 

Shulk nearly smiled. It was just like Reyn to be concerned with his wellbeing. If only they had time for such paltry worries now.

“It’s Zanza.” Shulk explained. “He’s our enemy, we have to-“

“Well yeah, that’s what I meant, when I asked.” Reyn gestured towards Shulk’s shoulders and neck. “You look like him now.”

Shulk’s body seized. The marks along his arms seared in pain, like a match lit on his skin.

“I didn’t want that.” The words tumbled out of Shulk’s mouth all at once. “He did that to me.” 

“Yea, I know.” Reyn said simply. “You do keep tellin’ him to back off.” 

Shulk nodded, mouth dry. Reyn blinked in place before appearing seated by Shulk’s side, close enough to touch as they fell into comfortable quiet. 

It was better that way. Shulk’s lungs were strained from the effort of shouting to be heard over the noise. Even speaking at his loudest he couldn’t hear himself, though Reyn’s voice was perfectly clear.

And Reyn was correct, Shulk thought, burying his face once more. Fighting back was the one thing Shulk had left to be proud of. Shulk was resisting even now, and he planned to until the very end. If it was apparent- if Shulk looked stronger than he felt- then he must be doing something right. 

“S’just… I’ve been thinkin’, yknow?” Reyn said, after a few minutes of soft buzzing passed. “’bout how you wanted a way out of this and all.”

Shulk’s skin prickled. 

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Well…” Reyn rubbed at the side of his head. “If you were what Zanza wanted all along, couldn’t you have made that deal earlier? Didn’t he ask, ‘fore we fought? ‘Be my disciple’?” 

Shulk’s stomach dropped, like falling of the highest floating island in Eryth Sea. “Yes.”

“So, if you’d done that, d’you think we’d all still be-“ 

“I don’t know, Reyn!” Shulk interrupted, tears brimming hot in his eyes.

But he did know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was called "cooking with reyn thyme" in my drafts and that's important


End file.
